


What's in a Name?

by dracoismytrashson (JGogoboots)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But no sexual content, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Recreational Drug Use, mostly just boys being high eating desserts and getting philosophical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/dracoismytrashson
Summary: “Mmm — oh Merlin — fuck me sideways, that’s good!” Draco slapped his palm on the table and moaned almost pornographically as he closed his lips around a forkful of chocolate marquise. “You’re going to have to fuck me really good tonight if you want top billing over this dessert, Potter.”Draco pointed at the marquise with his now empty fork and gazed at it longingly, his eyes misty with an intense devotion that Harry might have been jealous of were it not for the knowledge that his boyfriend was stoned out of his fucking gourd.Draco and Harry make an embarrassing miscalculation about being stoned in public, but at least it ends with French desserts, cuddles, and impromptu philosophical ramblings.





	What's in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onereader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/gifts).



> I'm setting about the task of slowly transferring all my Tumblr prompt fills over to AO3 so this isn't exactly a _new_ ficlet, but I hope you enjoy the soft stoned boys!

“Mmm — oh Merlin — fuck me sideways, that’s good!” Draco slapped his palm on the table and moaned almost pornographically as he closed his lips around a forkful of chocolate marquise. “You’re going to have to fuck me really good tonight if you want top billing over this dessert, Potter.”

Draco pointed at the marquise with his now empty fork and gazed at it longingly, his eyes misty with an intense devotion that Harry might have been jealous of were it not for the knowledge that his boyfriend was stoned out of his fucking gourd. 

For that matter, so was Harry. They’d had the (not so) brilliant idea of sharing a joint before venturing to Clos Maggiore, the illustrious French restaurant near Harry’s flat that everyone had been raving about for months. The logic behind the ill-fated plan had been as follows: smoking both expanded the capacity of their respective stomachs and heightened their senses until consuming even ordinary pub fare felt like an orgasmic experience. Thus, it followed that getting spectacularly high before consuming food that was quickly becoming renowned for being the peak of London’s culinary experience would elevate their gastronomic pleasure to a place that bordered on deliriously religious. Harry and Draco wanted to see tastes and smell colors, and this had seemed like the perfect restaurant to make that happen.

However, possessing the unfortunate misguided hubris that only people in their early 20s can get away with, they’d failed to take into account what it would feel like to waltz into an upscale place with a bustling atmosphere while supremely and unstably under the influence.

The thing about Clos Maggiore was that it was decorated in a way that, while very beautiful, was also highly unusual. Ivy crept along the walls of the interior and the ceiling was essentially one giant skylight with a network of cherry blossoms layered over top of it, forming a gorgeous canopy over the heads of the restaurant’s patrons. Between that, the roaring fireplace, and the strings of twinkling white lights that were threaded through the branches of the blossoms, it was easy to see why people had been referring to this as London’s most romantic restaurant.

But romantic or not, something about wandering into a Muggle establishment that was covered in flora and full of people in formal wear had made both boys decidedly bumbling and self-conscious.

“Is the ivy moving, Potter?! Are those blossoms enchanted?! This is definitely a wizarding establishment. No bloody question about it,” Draco had whispered to Harry, clutching onto his arm and rubbing it rhythmically. It was soothing, but the woman standing next to them as they waited for their table had begun to stare, and suddenly Harry doubted every single thing.  _ Was _ Draco whispering? For all Harry knew, they were actually both shouting and the whole restaurant could hear them. He seemed to have lost the ability to discern volume. And what about Draco clinging to his arm? Was it really just an inconspicuous stroking or was he clawing up it like the nervously intoxicated person he was, drawing attention to both of them? Were their eyes red? They  _ had _ taken care of that before they left, right? Eye drops and that charm Draco had learned from Blaise? Suddenly, Harry couldn’t remember anything at all. Everything about the evening’s events was blurring together. 

Just then, a man and a woman had walked into the lobby and approached the cloakroom.

“Did he just say…” Draco had squinted at the cloakroom attendant as he leaned into Harry with a dubious look, “he wanted to  _ eat _ their  _ boats?! _ ”

“I think he said he wanted to take their coats, Draco,” Harry had replied with a snicker. Soon the snicker had turned into a full blown giggle, and Draco was joining in too, both of them fighting hysterical laughter as Draco hid his face in Harry’s collar. 

“Harry, I think— ” Draco had started laughing again and clamped a hand over his mouth, but that only made it worse, the chuckles now coming out in very odd-sounding bursts that resembled a honk more than a laugh. By then, the lady still waiting for her table was most definitely giving them intense McGonagall-on-a-rampage eyes. “We’re too fucking high to be here right now.”

“You are right on the fucking mermaid’s tits about that, Draco.”

“What?! On the mermaid’s tits?! What does that mean?” Draco had looked at Harry incredulously, and they’d both devolved into unhinged giggles once again.

“I have no bloody idea. Are you sure that’s what I said?!” 

“I think so? But to be honest, I’m not sure I know what words mean anymore.”

“Potter? Table for two for Potter?” A man in a starched white shirt and smart looking waistcoat had appeared before them, and Harry and Draco had exchanged a look, nodding vigorously at each other.

“Give it to Miss Muffet over there,” Draco had said to the host, jerking his thumb in the direction of the older woman who had been making her disapproval known throughout their time in the lobby. Had it been only a few minutes or an hour? Harry couldn’t tell. He supposed he could add “the passage of time” to the list of things that were rapidly growing uncertain. “Think it’s been a bit since anyone’s sat on her tuffet, know what I mean?”

Harry had thrown his head back and guffawed as Draco linked arms with him and whisked them both out the door. 

After that, they’d strolled around the streets a bit, enjoying the glow of the streetlights and the fresh, brisk air of October. While still a bit buzzed, they’d started to come down enough to entertain the idea of procuring food from somewhere less intimidating.

“Oh! I know exactly what we need!” Harry had shouted as a burst of inspiration overtook him.

Draco had groaned as Harry yanked on his arm and broke into a jog, protesting that Harry should at least tell him where they were going if he was going to rip Draco’s limbs off in the process.

Draco’s grumpiness had completely dissipated once they arrived at Harry’s chosen destination, a French bakery that was filled with wondrous delights.

“Dessert for dinner? I knew there was a reason I kept your disheveled arse around,” Draco had sighed, ruffling Harry’s hair before stepping into the bright, cheery establishment.

And that was how they’d ended up on Harry’s couch, a gluttonous spread of pastries strewn across the coffee table in front of them. There were almond croissants and lemon tarts and chocolate marquises and  éclairs and mini  crèmes brûlées with fresh berries on top and mille-feuilles. It was a buffet of confectionary delights, and they were both tucking into it like it was the food of the gods.

“You have to try this,” Draco declared, slicing off a bite of the marquise and bringing the fork to Harry’s mouth.

“I don’t know… you’ve already made it clear my cock can’t compete with this thing. Not sure if I should give this chocolate the time of day. I’m a bit cross with it at the moment.” Harry smiled, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Open up.”

Harry obeyed and groaned in pleasure as the velvety texture hit his palate.

“Okay, you were right. May have to coat my prick in this stuff before you give me a blowjob next time. Can’t have you getting the wandering eye.”

Draco laughed and took a bite of lemon tart, chewing thoughtfully, his mouth downturning a bit, the silly mirth gone from his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Harry scooted closer, putting a hand on Draco’s thigh.

“I was just thinking… isn’t is weird how pudding can be a specific dessert, but it’s also used to refer to  _ any _ dessert? Anything you have after the meal is ‘pudding.’” Draco’s brow furrowed, his lips pursing ever so slightly.

“You’re still high,” Harry said with a wink.

“Shut it, Potter.” Draco scowled but leaned into Harry’s body, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “It just got me thinking… words can be so meaningless. They only mean something because someone arbitrarily decided it. And who’s to say that what someone has decided is worth anything, you know?”

“Er — maybe it’s time for some water.” Harry laughed softly and petted Draco’s hair. Draco had a tendency to sink into lofty, philosophical trains of thought when he smoked or drank a little too much. Harry always found it endearing, but right now he was too tired and stuffed full of French desserts to follow whatever winding destination Draco’s brain was headed to.

“I’m serious.” Draco sat up straight, untangling himself from Harry’s embrace, and shot him a determined look. “Think about my name… why does ‘Malfoy’ really mean anything? Simply because my father and his father and  _ his _ father before him kept shouting the importance of it and waving their money around to back it up? But why did people  _ listen _ to that? Why did they accept it like it was true simply because they were told so?”

“I don’t know… Merlin, Draco, these are big questions. I’m not sure I can answer them. I guess fear is a powerful motivator. Money controls things… keeps the people who don’t have it afraid of those who do. And well… far be it from me to give your father some sort of twisted compliment, but I guess there’s something to be said for confidence. If you say something loud enough, in the right words and the right commanding voice, if you  _ talk _ like you’re someone to be listened to, maybe you become one? Maybe that’s all it takes to convince someone you’re worth what you say you are?” Harry shook his head, wincing a little at the sheer number of thoughts swimming around in his brain. This was a complicated overload for this late in the evening, especially since his mind was still shaking off the pot-induced fog.

“Yeah, maybe… sorry, I can tell you’re tired. I always do this, don’t I?” Draco smiled sadly, and Harry scooped him up once again, Draco nestling in automatically, his head meeting Harry’s chest.

“Yes, but I don’t mind.”

“Really? It’s not annoying?”

“Not at all. I like that you get all ‘what does it really mean’ when you’ve had a few. I’m just not always coherent enough to hold up my end of the conversation.” Harry laughed, giving Draco’s arm a squeeze.

“You’re better at it than you think. I think you made a good point about my father… funny how quickly all that changed, isn’t it? What’s in a name? ‘Malfoy’ means something so different now,” Draco whispered, a mournful lilt to his voice.

“You’re not your name, Draco. You’re who you are because of who you decided to be after the war. Not who your father decided you were. Not who the wizarding world decided you were.  _ You _ decided to control your own narrative, and I think that’s the bravest thing anyone can do in this life.” Harry kissed the top of Draco’s head, and Draco sighed contentedly.

“You would know best, wouldn’t you?” Draco murmured into Harry’s chest. “I like the way you hold me.”

He said it so quietly, the softness of impending sleep edging into his voice, and though they hadn’t said it to each other yet, to Harry it felt like “I love you.”

“I know it’s bloody  cliché to say it, but you make me feel so safe, Harry.”

Harry’s pulse beat thickly in his veins, his face beginning to flush with pleasure.

“You make me feel safe too, Draco.”

“Mmm, there should be a commendation for that. A plaque or something. Making the Saviour of the wizarding world feel safe.”

“I’ll phone the Ministry in the morning. Tell them to get on it right away.”

“You do that,” Draco said with a yawn.

“Let’s go to bed, love.” Harry gently nudged Draco’s shoulder before he could fall asleep right there, leaving Harry in the awkward position of trying to extricate a dead-to-the-world boyfriend from his lap. Once Draco was out, a fire wouldn’t bloody well wake him.

“Yeah…” Draco reluctantly got up with a groan, taking Harry by the hand and leading them to the bedroom. 

They shucked off their jumpers and trousers, slipping into bed and curling around one another like they’d been doing for months now. Harry was so accustomed to Draco in his bed that he could hardly imagine a time when he hadn’t been there, warm and safe in Harry’s arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to say hello on Tumblr, friends: [dracoismytrashson](https://dracoismytrashson.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, Clos Maggiore is an actual restaurant, and that ceiling/decor is AMAZING. You should totally check it out to fully get the imagery and see just why our stoned boys were gaping at it lol: [Clos Maggiore](https://www.closmaggiore.com/)


End file.
